


Monsters and Messages

by ellahaha



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Cowgirl Position, F/M, Face-Sitting, Gingerflower, Gingerrose - Freeform, Hate Sex, Light Bondage, Porn with Feelings, Secret Messages, Trapped, crackship, not really romance but kind of romance, playing fast and loose with canon, slightly AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23290456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellahaha/pseuds/ellahaha
Summary: “Ah, is that it? Did you think I was some romantic hero, a poor, misguided soul trapped on the other side who could be guided to the light with just the right words and affection?” Hux spits.A dangerous thought enters Rose's mind. Why shouldn’t she be the one to take what she needs, for once?----Set during TROS. Rose and Hux are trapped in an escape pod for two hours. Rose has a lot of feelings. Hux has a lot of issues. Hate sex ensues. And excessive bickering.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Rose Tico
Comments: 18
Kudos: 101





	Monsters and Messages

As Armitage Hux hurls away from _The Millennium Falcon_ in an escape pod, he’s certain of three things:

  1. He’s a failure.
  2. He’s going to die. 
  3. He’s trapped with the most annoying woman in the galaxy. 



Said annoying woman huffs as she smears bacta over the bruised mess of his chest. “Will you please stop moving,” she says. 

“Would _you_ stop digging your claws into my skin,” he hisses, but he stills.

The woman above him - Rose Tico, he’s learned – shakes her head to clear flyaway strands of her dark hair out of her face as she finishes applying the bacta. Hux should be grateful he was wearing his ballistic vest when Pryde shot him at point blank range, but the pain makes him consider the alternative. He winces at her touch.

Passing information to the Resistance had been just a means to an end. It wasn’t about political ideology - it was simply about taking down Kylo Ren. Slipping information had even been shamefully invigorating at times, when his contact would respond with a sharp comment and Hux would craft a carefully-crafted barb to send in return. In fact, it had been…a distraction. He grew to look forward to the times in his day when he would retire to his office and send coded messages on his datapad. Sometimes their conversations would last almost an hour, and not stick to simply passing information. 

> _“Stay alive. I’d miss you if you were gone.”_

That was the last message he’d received from his contact. And now, because a team of incompetent Resistance buffoons forced him to blow his cover, he was trapped in a metal coffin bound for some backwater base while the Supreme Leader stayed in power. If the Resistance defeated Kylo Ren, Hux wouldn’t be waiting in the wings to seize control. News of his treachery would spread, and any remaining First Order officers would execute him on sight. His fate with the Resistance was much less certain, but considering he ordered the destruction of their government, it would still likely end with his death.

That is, assuming he lives through his current medical treatment. 

He’s unsure what Rose’s role is with the Resistance, but bedside manner clearly isn’t her forte. Or perhaps she remembers when he once ordered her execution and is enacting revenge. She pounds the bacta onto his chest like a hammer into a board. His finger bore angry red welts for days after their last encounter.

“There,” she says, standing up and wiping her hands on her pants, “that should keep you alive at least until our escort arrives.” 

She turns around sharply and beelines for the small access panel near the entrance of the escape pod. Hux pulls himself into a seated position on his small couch. His chest answers with an ache has he moves, but he bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t cry out.

Rose has produced a set of tools from within the same many-pocketed orange belt she pulled out the bacta, and is currently ripping the panel door from the wall.

The bacta tingles on his skin, but his chest is still a patchwork of pain. He tests his breathing by inhaling fully - no sharp pain, so no broken ribs. With bruising this deep, one layer of bacta won’t do much, but it does ease the pain somewhat. He turns his attention to Rose, who has the panel door open and is wrestling with some wires. “What are you doing?” he asks. 

Rose doesn’t turn around. There’s a silence a breath too long, then she responds, “These escape pods are designed for short travel, from ship to planetside. Our escort won’t be able to reach us before the oxygen runs out. I’m rerouting some non-critical systems so we don’t suffocate.”

Hux leans his head against the cushioned wall. “Of course,” he says, “I had been worried this trip might be comfortable.”

“Sorry this transport won’t be up to First Order standards,” she responds, not bothering to disguise the venom in her voice, “I’m rerouting heating and lighting systems to power the oxygen recirculator. It might get cold.” At her words, the lights flicker and die. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, illuminated now only by the stars outside the viewport and a small flashlight Rose tucked behind her ear. 

He peers out the viewport. Nothing but inky blackness as far as he can see - no planets, no other ships. No signs of life outside of their little pod. 

“Brilliant,” Hux says.

Rose continues prodding at the machinery. “Just letting you know that this pod has limited power, in case you have any brilliant ideas about trying to kill me and jet off into the galaxy.” She connects two cords and the soft mechanical sounds of the HVAC system quiet to near silence.

Indignation flares in the pit of his stomach. She really thinks he’s a simple-minded dolt. “Oh no, your _Jedi_ companion was quite descriptive about what would happen to me if I hurt you,” he says. “That is of course, assuming you have no designs of your own and _I_ survive our little trip.”

Rose slams the panel door shut with so much force it bounces back open. “Now would be a good time to get some sleep. And to stop talking,” she says, grabbing the door roughly and shutting into place. She stalks over to the twin couch facing Hux and throws her body down, arms and legs crossed. 

Hux regards her, tries to piece together what he knows. She’s clearly not military - her utter lack of discipline proves as much. That she’s traveling with a known enemy and hasn’t incapacitated him, even in his injured state and with threats of further bodily harm from her companions, reeks of naiveté. Even though her First Order Radar Technician suit is obviously stolen, she clearly knows her way around technology. She’s trying to look intimidating, but her inexperience makes it ineffective. Instead she looks pouty. 

* * *

Rose glares at Hux, taking in the sight of him weak and injured. His pristine hair is wilting out of style and the dark shape of his bruises are visible even in the dim light. She’s never seen him so uncontrolled and vulnerable. Once he’d lorded over her, goaded her like an animal until she bit him like one. Now he’s at _her_ mercy. It feels good, but a guilt ebbs at her. She knew she had to be the one to see Hux back to the Resistance base - Finn, Poe and Rey needed to continue on their mission. There was no time, no one else to guard him in the _Falcon’s_ escape pod and wait for a pickup while her three friends saved the galaxy.

But she wishes it was anyone else trapped in a small escape pod with _him_.

It could be worse, she supposes. They could be in a smaller pod, like on some ships she’d worked on, with only enough room for one chair. She imagines sitting on Hux’ lap the entire journey, and her throat tightens. Yes, it could be worse. 

Already, the air in the small ship has grown noticeably colder. Rose hugs herself tightly, refusing to take her eyes off Hux. He’s following her commands, staying silent but staring back at her just intensely. Anger flares in the pit of her stomach. Unbidden, she recalls thelast message she sent to the First Order Spy.

> _Going to a party with some mutual friends of ours. I won’t be on comms for a while. I hope my absence won’t be too painful for you. -Flower_
> 
> _I shall try my best not to think about the agony of hours without your witty conversations. Where is this party? -RS_
> 
> _Far away from you. Or maybe not. I’m not sure which to hope for. -Flower_
> 
> _Forget that…it was stupid. -Flower_
> 
> _I’m not sure I want to forget. Could it be that I’ve charmed you with my superior intellect? -RS_
> 
> _Har, har. -Flower_
> 
> _Let’s not go too far. - Flower_
> 
> _Stay safe at this party, Flower. I would miss these conversations if anything were to happen to you. Who else will I have to insult, if you’re gone? -RS_
> 
> _I’m sure you’d find someone. -Flower_
> 
> _Perhaps. Perhaps not. I mean it sincerely Flower: stay safe. -RS_
> 
> _Damn it, RS. There you go saying something nice again. I might get used to it. -Flower_
> 
> _You too, stay safe I mean. Stay alive. I’d miss you if you were gone. -Flower_
> 
> _(You don’t have to forget that one.) -Flower_

Stupid, stupid. It had been different when it was anonymous. It had been-

“Are we going to sit here for two hours, like this?” her prisoner says, interrupting her thoughts. 

Rose blinks. “Yes.”

“How riveting.” 

“Should be easy for you to shut your brain off, since you’re just a mindless drone,” she snaps.

With only the light of stars to illuminate them, Rose can’t make out the colors of his face. But she can see the way his lips curl, the scrunching of his nose. The familiar First Order look of contempt. Hux says quietly “You must hate me very much.”

“I don’t hate anyone,” she snarls. It’s unconvincing even to her.

Hux is staring at her with those sharp eyes of his. She remembers they’re a vivid blue, flecked with green. She remembers looking into them. The way they narrowed in disgust as he condemned her to die. The taste of his glove rises to her tongue. 

He’s silent for a moment, and she can almost see the gears whirring in his head. Does he know? Has he figured it out yet? She’s not sure she should have this confrontation. She doesn’t want it…but part of her wants it. Wants him to feel the same disgust and shame she does.

“Your colleges called you Rose. That’s your name, is it?” he asks.

She nods curly.

His eyes widen a fraction. Then he laughs mirthlessly, to himself. “You were my contact.” he says. “Of course. I should have seen it when we met on the _Steadfast_. The pilot and FN-2187 were astonished when I revealed myself, but you were enraged.”

“His name is _Finn_ ,” she retorts, but doesn’t correct him.

He tsks. “Is that why you hate me?” he asks, “Not who you were expecting?”

Anger is toxic. Anger makes good agents sloppy. But Rose has wanted to shout at him since he announced he was the spy with his ridiculous, self-satisfied smirk. “What do you want to hear from me, _Grand Admiral Hux_?” She stands up now, reveling in her rare height over him. He shrinks back incrementally, which fuels her. “That I had no idea it was you? That I’m _disgusted_ that it was you?” her voice is sharp, breathless, “That I meant every message I sent? That I liked talking to you? And that…and that you’re a mass murderer? That I _hate you_ for tricking me into thinking you were an actual human being with emotions and thoughts and free will? Fine. I hate you. You’re a monster.” She’s breathing loudly, her lips trembling.

He studies her like she’s a mildly interesting puzzle, worthy of passing interest but not full attention. Again, he laughs joylessly. 

“Ah, is that it? Did you think I was some romantic hero, a poor, misguided soul trapped on the other side who could be guided to the light with just the right words and affection?” he spits.

His words slap her across her face, leaving her skin tingling and her eyes welling with tears. She won’t give him the satisfaction of her tears …. she _can’t_ , she can’t. Rose breathes slowly through her nose. She’s never _truly_ wanted to kill someone before, to wrap her hands around their throat and squeeze until they stop trashing. She wants to now, and it doesn’t scare her as much as it should.

She rips her gaze away from her prisoner. “I suggest you try and get some sleep,” she says, hating how breathy her voice is. “Our escort won’t be here for at least another hour. I’m sure you’ll need your strength for whatever they have planned for you.” 

At those cryptic words, she returns to her seat and lays down on her side, facing Hux but pointing her gaze anywhere but his face.

* * *

_Stay alive. I’d miss you if you were gone._

_I hate you for tricking me into thinking you were an actual human being._

_I liked talking to you_

_I hate you. You’re a monster._

They’re just echoes of words he’s heard before: from his enemies, from his father, from himself. Nothing new or surprising. Yet he keeps thinking on that word, and the way she said it.

_Monster_.

He has no means of keeping time, but by his estimate less than a standard hour has passed since her outburst. 

It had been foolish to let his guard down, to send those messages, and to goad his captor. It had been foolish to contact the Resistance in the first place. 

Without heating, the frigid air of space presses around the pod. It’s not enough to see his breath forming, but it’s enough to be incredibly uncomfortable on his bare skin. His chest still aches, but the pain has dulled thanks to the bacta. He moves to button it, and Rose’s head quirks at the noise. When she sees what he’s doing, she rests her head back down. 

She’s certainly feeling the cold too. Her body is curled up into a small ball and she trembles at random intervals. The sight should be pathetic. Somehow he can’t pity her.

“Oh, just get over here, you ridiculous creature,” Hux says aloud, cutting through the silence of the escape pod. Rose’s shivering stops as she slides to a sitting position. In the dark every part of her is just shades of shadow, which means she can’t see the treacherous flush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Excuse me?” she says. 

“I’m tired of listening to you tremble like a wounded animal. There’s no point in both of us freezing when we can use our body heat.” 

Her voice is as cold as the air when she responds. “You want to…cuddle? Is that what you’re asking me?”

“No,” he says, in the same tone of voice he would use with fresh, young recruits in theStormtrooper program, “I want to sleep. Between the frigid air and the distracting sounds of your whimpering, that is not possible. I’m proposing a solution.” 

She’s utterly silent. 

“Purely for survival,” he adds.

She cocks her head, then reaches into one of the orange pouches at her hip. She pulls out an electro-shock prod and arcs it. The electricity sizzles in the air and illuminates her face in vivid blue.

“Hux, if you don’t keep your mouth shut, I’m going to knock you out for the rest of the journey. You won’t feel the cold then.” She flicks the prod off, but cradles it in her hands and slides back down on her side.

He presses his lips into a hard line. If she wants to stubbornly cling to her pride, that doesn’t concern him. The cold is unpleasant, but Hux is used to discomfort. He can tolerate it until the Resistance ship arrives. 

Sleep would evade him regardless - although his aching body craves it, his mind keeps swirling between his uncertain fate, Ren, and those damned messages. 

_Stay alive._

Rose glares at him as she begins shivering again. Hux forces himself to ignore her and the revelation that she was his contact, and concentrate on his next steps. He can’t overpower his captor in his current state, and if he did, what would that achieve? Then he’d have the two only real powers in the galaxy both chasing him down. Would he slip away, hiding on some insignificant planet while his inferiors settled the fate of the galaxy? No. He would have to play along, for now. Perhaps he could remake the Resistance from within. Their chaos needed order. They were misguided and irrational, of course, but there were always those willing to be swayed. Yes, perhaps…

He’s shaken from his thoughts by the sound of a fist slamming into a cushion. He startles and winces, then flushes at his own weakness.

“Damn it,” Rose whispers to herself, but in the silence of the pod he can hear it clearly. She stands up. “I’m tying your hands behind your back before I come over there.” He’s barely processed what she’s said as she begins pulling a length of fibercord out of yet another pouch. She removes the belt, and leaves it on her couch out of his reach. Then she’s moving toward him, eyes hard and lips pursed.

“Roll over,” she commands him as she approaches. For a moment, he considers disobeying. Then he considers the prod, and the cold. He does as she says. She yanks both his hands together and ties the fibercord around his wrists. She pulls tight enough to cut into his skin painfully, but this is clearly her first time binding a prisoner. With the right maneuvering, he could slip out of them with only a broken thumb. He files that option away, should the need arise.

She roughly pulls him back onto his side. “Move over,” she gestures. He scowls at the order, but obliges, shimmying back on the couch to make room for her. She glares at him again, then shakes her head once, and settles in front of him, so he’s spooning her from behind. Or would be, if his hands were free. And if they were lovers, not enemies. 

* * *

Rose sighs. Pressed up against Hux, it’s not..unpleasant. In the dark, it could almost be any body behind her. It could almost be Finn. _No_. She squashes that thought away guiltily. Finn doesn’t deserve the comparison to Hux. And Finn isn’t _hers_ to fantasize about, he’d made that clear. She can’t blame him - she knows doesn’t owe her anything. And she never saw the way he looked at Poe until it was too late.

But still, it hurts. 

Rose always had bad taste in romance. Unavailable hearts. Lovers who would take what they needed, then leave. Paige would tease her about it. But she would also be there when Rose needed to cry.

Maybe it was for the best her mysterious contact turned out to be someone like Hux. With no Paige, a claimed Finn, a distant Poe and a distracted Rey, she was lonely. Lonely enough to let her emotions tug her into a tit-for-tat with a First Order spy. Lonely enough to enjoy it. She needed it to be someone like Hux, to shake her out of her silly fantasies. 

His body is warm behind hers, his breath steady. It tickles the top of her head as she exhales. This whole thing is ridiculous: her and Hux, allowing him to warm her after he thoroughly dashed any lingering affection she’d had. Perhaps they both would be better off running out of oxygen.

Another one of their exchanges looms to the center of her mind:

> _Your package was received.-Flower_
> 
> _Acknowledged. -RS_
> 
> _Is that really all? No scathing remark about my life or direct insult to my morals? Perhaps you’re losing your touch, Flower. - RS_
> 
> _Sorry, I guess I was distracted. This is a hard time of year for me. -Flower_
> 
> _Wait why am I apologizing to you? -Flower_
> 
> _I suppose I can accept that apology, even if it’s unearned. I know I am - what was it you called me last time? It was very descriptive. -RS  
>   
>  Ah yes, a “First Order puppet who probably has to ask for permission before they even pass waste.” Clever. I know I am a First Order puppet, but sometimes it can be helpful to speak to someone with no ties to your current situation. - RS_
> 
> _Fine. You asked. -Flower_
> 
> _My sister died trying to take down one of your ships last year. -Flower_
> 
> _And I have to pretend like I’m fine, when I’m not at all because we’ve all lost someone. And it’s selfish to wallow but I can’t just smile and be nice and normal right now…but I have to be and I hate it and I hate that I hate the people I love right now but I hate being around them and being this way -Flower_
> 
> _and I can’t say that to them because if I do they’ll feel guilty or try and fix me. -Flower_
> 
> _And it wouldn’t matter anyway because she’ll still be gone and I’ll still be here and I’ve got things to do so I don’t even want to think about it but it’s this jagged edge inside me that keeps catching on things…I’ll see something that reminds me of her and it could be something stupid like a mug of caf but then I’m remembering something and thinking about her and I have to try and stop it so I don’t break down -Flower_
> 
> _I guess it IS easier to type it out to a stranger. I never used to feel this way, but then I lost My sister died and it’s not the same -Flower_
> 
> _Kriff, and now I’m unloading on you. Some brainless stooge halfway across the galaxy that she died trying to stop. -Flower_
> 
> _I understand what you mean. Not precisely in the same way, but I understand that feeling. I too have had moments where I find myself thinking about the past. Truth be told I’ve spent a lot of time trapped in memories, myself. The only way I know to make them stop is to focus on the present. Every day that you live when others perish, it’s a triumph. Take time at the end of each day to reflect, but keep up a strong front. The best we can do is not let others see our weaknesses. -RS_
> 
> _And I’m relieved to see your petty insults are unhindered by your grief. -RS_
> 
> _Wow that’s…strangely inspirational. Maybe you should give speeches. -Flower_
> 
> _You can just delete those messages and we can exchange messages like we should be, you know, professional… -Flower_
> 
> _Have you ever been professional, Flower? - RS_
> 
> _…touché - Flower_
> 
> _As long as you have your “First Order puppet” halfway across the galaxy, you’re never alone. - RS_

At the memory and the feelings it stirs up, Rose shifts uncomfortably. Hux grunts.

“I would prefer if you could avoid that action,” he says. With his body so close, she can feel the rumble of his words.

“And I think I already told you what _I_ would prefer, which is if you stopped trying to talk to me,” she shoots back.

His response is a hot exhale that sends the hair on top of her head dancing. 

It’s petty, but she shifts again. 

And something _hard_ where it should be soft rubs against her backside as she stretches her body. 

She stills, blood rushing to her head. No, that can’t possibly be what she thinks. She shifts again, this time consciously arcing her back. There’s no mistake - a respectably-sized half-chub rapidly rising to attention.

Again, Hux grunts. But he says nothing. Blood rushes to Rose’s head. Of course, underneath all the layers of First Order and murderer, he’s still a man. It should be hardly surprising that he can act like one.

Her anger at being in this situation with Hux bubbles again to the surface. She wants to shut her brain off, stop jumping between their text conversations, Finn’s rejection, Paige, Hux’ crimes, and the feeling of a warm, hard body behind her. 

When she saved Finn on Crait, she knew she was going to die, and that she had to kiss him. A similar compulsion strikes her now. Hux had stolen from her. Intentionally or not. Rose was always the selfless one. The one who got hurt. The one who got taken from.

If he wasn’t who he was, Hux would be pleasant to look at. He’s tall, lanky and (biologically-speaking) handsome. A dangerous thought enters her mind. Why shouldn’t _she_ be the one to take what she needs, for once? 

“Do you think I’m attractive?” she asks the silence. Hux breathing hitches. But no response. She pulls away from him and twists her body so she’s looking down at him. He’s looking up at her, his expression unreadable. 

“Well?”

“As I recall, you ordered me not to speak,” he replies tersely. 

“You have my permission to answer.”

He rolls his head to the side, looking away. 

“I would think you could answer that question yourself.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Why?” He turns his head back up, matching her gaze. “Will this be your excuse to kill me?”

“I won’t kill you,” she says, “You’re not worth it.” He tsks, and rolls his head to the side, looking away. 

Her anger no longer boils. It’s now a steady simmer in the pit of her stomach. 

* * *

Rose rolls away from him and stalks back over to her discarded couch. She grabs the prod. Hux watches her warily. If he thought he’d been in the worst position of his adult life when he’d outed himself as a spy, this was _worse_. 

He’d wanted to warm himself, but it was a biological inevitability when a warm body pressed into his…certain things couldn’t be helped…

He’d tried to grit his teeth and recite as many First Order marching drills as he could think of, but then she’d started writhing on him, making it worse. It was simply a natural, physical response.

And now it was going to be his death warrant. 

In a flash, Rose is back before him. She leans over him, tendrils of her hair falling away from her face. He shouldn’t be noticing something so trivial in a moment like this. He shouldn’t imagine them tickling his face. 

She presses the prod through his shirt and into his bruised skin, her finger on the trigger. Hux sucks in a breath of air at the sharp pain.

“Are you attracted to me?” she asks.

“How illuminating to see that your Resistance isn’t above using physical pain to get what they want,” Hux responds. Despite the disdain in his voice, his wide eyes are nearly crossed as he watches the prod. 

Rose cocks her head, waiting for a response. 

He wrenches his eyes from the prod to scan her body. She’s short, but shapely. The baggy First Order jumpsuit she’s wearing does her no favors, but based on the way the fabric strains around the top she must be… _wait._ Hux stops himself, bringing his attention back to the question. “Yes,” he says. Objectively: it’s true.

Rose’s eyebrows furrow.

“Our messages, when you were the — for the Resistance. Was that part of a trick?” Her voice is distressingly calm.

He sees no reason not to answer truthfully. “No. My only goal was to undermine Kylo Ren. I was…careless in our communications. I simply enjoyed the challenge of an intellectual peer.”

She regards him, eyes narrowed. 

“Would you sell me out, to save yourself? Even if you knew I would be hurt or killed?”

“Yes.”

His honesty seems to satisfy her, even though she’s clearly still full of hatred. She leans back, still gripping the prod. She bites her lip. There’s a look in her eyes - not what he expected. He expected anger, determination, vengefulness. Instead he finds an animalistic hunger. 

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

He’s surprised to find there was any blood left to rush for his head, but his pulse thunders in his ears. He doesn’t want this…or does he? If the Resistance executes him, he’ll have at least one hell of a final memory. He’s also not too keen on greeting a Resistance General with a raging erection, one that’s perked up at Rose’s words. 

“…yes.” He finds himself saying.

Rose blinks slowly. Licks her lips. 

“You like giving orders, will you follow them as well? Will you do what I say? Will you tell no one?” The questions rush out of her, breathlessly.

“I can be discrete when it comes to…such matters, if that’s what you’re asking,” Hux says “As for following commands, I don’t have many other options in my current position.” He flicks his eyes to the prod. 

Rose huffs. She stalks back over to her couch. Hux tries to regain composure, shifting but unable to find a position that doesn’t send a flash of discomfort either to his chest or his cock. He doesn’t know what Rose’s game is, or if she’s even strategic enough to have one. She’s set the prod down on the couch, far out of his reach, along with her orange belt. She yanks something up and over her head - a necklace. Sets it down carefully. She kicks off her boots. Then she pulls down her jumpsuit, revealing a sports bra and mismatched undergarments. 

Hux gulps. 

She pulls her bra over her head, her back still to him. Illuminated by starlight next to the window, he sees freckles dotting her skin. Then she’s peeling off her undergarments, and turning around.

The other people he’s been with have all been First Order, always sharp edges and hardened military bodies. Clearly, the Resistance doesn’t demand as strict physical regimes. Rose is full and healthy. His eyes trail down her body, past the swell of her ample breasts down to her surprisingly supple thighs. They’re smooth and impossibly soft-looking, and he wonders immediately how they’d feel wrapped around his waist. And the small tuft of hair between.

He watches her make her way back over to him, her breasts bouncing and those beautiful hips swaying. She’s walking with purpose, her gait more sensual, and it’s highly effective.

When she reaches the bed, she swings a leg over his body. She straddles him, pressing her full weight just above his erection. He wants to free himself and bend her over the small couch, but he can’t free his hands without risking a swift ending and he very much _doesn’t want to stop_. He can almost feel her smooth skin through the layers of fabric. Her maddening warmth heats his stomach. He wants to feel those thighs skin-to-skin.

Sex in the First Order is transactional and practical. Humans need to unwind, they need to have sex, they need to orgasm. This, he’s used to. Men and women joining his bed, getting what they needed, and leaving discretely. All he can hope is that she’s not interested in just taking but giving as well. 

But he’s also used to being the one in control, not bound and weak. The feeling distresses him.

Rose leans forward, and for a brief moment he thinks she means to kiss him, but instead she snakes her fingers through his carefully-styled hair and ruffles. She regards him for a moment, as if anticipating a remark, but talking feels wrong, like it will shake her out of this moment, so he says nothing. 

She tugs his shirt back open, taking her time with each button, agonizingly. When he’s exposed, she traces her finger lightly around his bruises. Her hands are ice on his skin. Rose raises her hips and slides closer to his face. She hovers over him, teasing, and he realizes what she’s demanding before she takes what she wants. She stares down at him, eyebrow quirked, as though waiting for a refusal. He gives a small nod. 

Rose settles her lap on his face. He opens his mouth to greet her, tasting her salty desire. She lets out a noise halfway between a gasp and a moan. Her silken folds part with his tongue, and she writhes above him. He explores her, tongue flickering and in and out. Rose’s hips grind with his movement. Her silky thighs envelope his face in a hug. They’re every bit as soft as he expected.

He takes masculine triumph in this moment, his captor at his mercy, moaning and thrashing, and the taste of her arousal on his lips. He laps at her like she’s his last meal (and she _could_ be, he thinks grimly). She’s rocking back and forth, swearing and moaning. He closes his eyes and focuses on the sensation of her in his mouth, the taste of her arousal, the trembling of her soft thighs, the movement of her hips, the unrestrained sounds coming from her mouth. His cock, restrained by his clothes, sends pain shooting through his body.

Her body tightens, then releases like a bowstring as she cries out.

* * *

Rose pants, sliding down Hux’s face back to his chest, causing him to wince. The prim and proper General Hux is thoroughly disheveled, his hair wild and the slick of her lust on his lips. She can’t calm her trembling body as his eyes meet hers. 

He smirks.

And licks his lips.

_Oh kriff._

She wasn’t sure what she meant to do, but now she needs _all of him._ She needs it more than anything else. 

She’s wrestling with his pants. She unceremoniously tugs them and his regulation black briefs down to his knees. He’s clean-cut and well-groomed, and rock hard.

She raises her hips and lowers herself onto him, meaning to go slowly, but she’s so wet and he slides in so easily, she’s taken in all of him and their hips meet. She lets out a small “ooh” of surprise. The noises coming from Hux are more guttural and animalistic than she expected. She revels in this debasement, _her_ doing. 

She slides back up his cock, leaning forward and pressing her hands on his injured chest, slick with sweat and residual bacta. The latticework of bruises are shadows in the dark.

“You like pain, Hux?” she asks breathily, pushing her hands down. He moans and thrusts his hips, her body contracting and clenching down on him. She pushes back down his chest, sliding herself back down and up again, experimentally. His cock twitches inside of her. 

He could be any man, like this. Her anger is her desire, the two melt together into one, new sensation, trailing all the way down her body to her clit and inside her where she can feel him _._ She slides up and down on his cock, pleasure sparking and he’s moaning and she digs her nails into his chest. She’s moving fast and he thrusts his hips to match her pace, a dizzying race. A competition. 

It’s skin-on-skin, body-on-body, nerve-on-nerve and it doesn’t matter that it’s Hux, it could be anybody, it could be somebody and _oh OH_ Her eyes roll back in her head and her body is moving without her, chasing her orgasm, that’s so close, it’s so close, if only she could catch up to it, just…

And she reaches it, her body clenching tightly and releasing, and her orgasm is another scream ripped from her mouth.

He’s still thrusting as she’s coming down, trying to catch her breath. She really shouldn’t help him out, this is _hers_ to have, but she rolls her hips against him. There’s power in this too, knowing she could deny him but giving it to him anyway.

His breathes are garbled words strung together incoherently and she watches his face as he cums inside her, how his still-moist lips pinch together and he throws his head back. The bobbing of his adam’s apple. Yes, there’s power in this. 

Rose settles back, as they both try to catch their breath and say nothing to each other. Each beat of her racing heart hammers in her ears, but in this moment her hatred is gone. In this moment, they are just two people.

And it’s at that exact moment that Rose hears the telltale pinging of her datapad, thundering in the silence of the escape pod. 

Clarity slams into Rose, and she yelps as she tugs herself off Hux, hurling herself across the room. She wrestles her datapad out of the pocket of her stolen jumpsuit and a message flashes on the screen.

_We’ll be at your rendezvous earlier. Ready to pick up the trash - ETA 15 minutes out. - JP_

Rose frantically types a message with one hand while shimmying into her jumpsuit in the other. She doesn’t bother with her bra or underwear - shoving them into a pocket along with the memory of what she’s just done.

Hux clears his throat behind her. “Do you plan on leaving me like this?” He asks. Rose blanches, turning around. He’s an utter mess, hair wild, skin sweaty and utterly exposed. Rose rushes over to his couch and furiously pulls up his pants, stuffing him back into his clothes roughly. 

“Careful with _that_ ,” he barks, but she’s already moved onto his shirt. Over the silence of the escape pod, she can hear the rumbling of a ship approaching. 

The adrenaline from their encounter trails off, leaving in its wake an uncertainty. Rose finds herself unable to meet Hux’s eyes. “This never happened,” she says. The hum of the approaching ship is on top of them. Rose’s datapad pings. 

“Of course,” Hux says, his voice biting. 

The escape pod lurches as it’s raised up into a tractor beam. Rose is jostled, nearly landing on top of Hux. She catches herself on the corner of his couch, managing to stay on her feet. 

“I suppose that will be your Resistance,” Hux says. Something in his voice makes Rose look at his face. She realizes when she catches his eyes that it’s fear. The datapad pings again, she ignores it.

“Am I to be executed?” Hux asks. It’s not the voice of a Grand Admiral, but of a man.

It’s a vulnerability she’s not prepared to handle. 

“I don’t know,” Rose answers honestly. 

They say nothing as the pod settles into a ship. Rose’s thoughts are like a mess of burn-out circuitry. But she doesn’t tear away from Hux’s eyes. 

* * *

Bile rises in Hux’s throat and his heart pounds furiously in his chest, as though it knows it may stop beating soon. It feels as though he never released at all, his body tense and wanting to run. He could snap out of his restraints, but it’s too late for that. And there’s no point. 

Rose is looking at him, and it’s not pity or anger he sees but an understanding. An acknowledgement. It’s not a compassionate goodbye, but still a better one than he deserves. A metallic knock echoes on the outside of the pod. It startles Rose out of her reverie, who tears her eyes away from his and stands up. And once again, he’s just a prisoner. A war criminal. Someone she hates. _Monster_.

“Rose?” A muffled female voice calls out, “Rose, please respond.”

Rose swears and strides toward the door. “I’m alright, Jess. Sorry.” She pushes the door open, and light bursts into the pod. Hux blinks.

“Don’t do that to me,” the female voice says. It belongs to a woman of average build and dark hair, who smiles at the sight of Rose. The woman - Jess - holds two pairs of cuffs. She’s flanked by three Resistance fighters - two humans and a blue Squamatan female, all with blasters drawn.

Her dark eyes slide past Rose and onto Hux. She scowls. “Right. Let’s get the Admiral taken care of. General Organa is very eager to talk to him.” She motions to the troops behind her, and they all march into the pod behind her. Rose presses herself against the wall. 

“Stand up,” she barks at Hux. He glares at her, but obeys. The top of his hastily-buttoned shirt flaps open, but his hands are still bound behind his back so he can’t cover himself. He may have no control, but he can control his reaction. He holds his head high, as though he’s back on the bridge of the Supremacy. 

The Squamatan laughs, eyes on his bruises. “I underestimated you, Rose. I thought you’d be too _virtuous_ to get some justice. I approve.”

Rose frowns. “Admiral Hux was injured in the escape.” 

“Right, someone clawed up his chest in the _escape,_ ” the Squamatan says.

“Enough,” Jess interrupts. “Rose, want to do the honors?” She raises the cuffs. Rose’s eyes dart from the Squamatan to Jess and finally to Hux. He looks at her like he did when they first met, like he’s still in power. Her face slides into a stiff expression. She nods sharply.

“Turn around,” Jess says to Hux. He stares down at her haughtily, but obliges. Cold fingers touch his skin. He’s given a moment of relief from the biting of Rose’s hand-made restraints as they’re removed. He can hear the sounds of guns cocking behind him. For a brief second, Rose’s fingers trace the red lines around his wrists. It’s gentle. Just as quickly, that sensation is replaced by cold metal.

She drops behind him and chains his feet together as well. Then the sound of shuffling as Rose retreats. 

“Come along,” a male voice says as a massive hand slaps down on his shoulder. A human man spins him around. He looks at Hux like he’s a parasitic worm he’s just found in his waste.

Hux catches sight of Rose one last time. She’s pressed back against the wall, biting her lip. When she sees him looking, she .

“Thank you for the transportation, and the…accommodations,” Hux says, inclining his head toward Rose. He’s satisfied to see a slight pink tinge creeping through her cheeks, and her eyebrows knit together. “I suppose _General Organa_ and I have much to discuss. Lead the way.” He says to the male, rolling his wrist in the cuff. 

“Still barking orders like you’re in charge?” the fourth fighter, a human woman, sneers. 

“Pathetic,” says the Squamatan, “It’s the ones who are the most confident that always cry the hardest and beg the loudest when it’s time for the firing squad.” She licks her lips. “You look like a pathetic man to me, Admiral Hux.” 

Hux feels his heart racing but he won’t give them his captors the satisfaction. Against the wall, Rose pointedly is looking away from the exchange. None of the others notice except Jess, who frowns.

Outside the pod Hux can see the interior of a space station: pilots, ships and droids. And beyond that, only lights. “Go on,” the male says, stabbing his rifle into Hux’s back and ushering him forward.

Hux is forced out of the pod. His mind and heart race against each other, but his face remains aloof. As he leaves, his thoughts slip out of his control and a memory slides into place, of sending messages on a datapad. Now he pictures a small, beautiful woman with black hair reading those messages. In his mind, she's smiling while she types a response.

* * *

Rose watches him leave, a mixture of relief, disgust, anger and loss washing over her. Not loss for him, but of _RS_ _,_ who died the moment Rose discovered his identity. Snap, Karé and Suralinda follow him, but Jessika stays next to Rose.

“So,” she says, “how was the journey? He give you any trouble?” 

Rose shakes her head. “It was fine. Unremarkable.”

Jessika’s eyes are narrowing. “Rose, you’re a terrible liar.” 

Rose sighs, hugging her chest. Everything with Hux had been one reckless mistake after the other. She knows her friends, knows General Leia well enough to know she wouldn’t be in any _real_ trouble. But she also knows they wouldn’t understand, and she doesn’t want to have to explain it to anyone. Not now, not ever. “Let it go, Jess,” she says softly.

Jessika throws her hands up. “Fine.” Then she smirks, “Up for a cup of caff? We don’t have to talk about…whatever, but I’m dying to know what happened on _The Steadfast_ and where Poe’s _really_ headed. You know he never tells me the good bits.”

Rose smiles, “Always.”

As Rose follows Jessika out of the Millennium Falcon’s escape pod, she’s certain of three things:

  1. She’s done something very stupid.
  2. She liked it.
  3. She hates Armitage Hux (but she’ll miss him when he’s gone.)



* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I kept this as a one-shot for now because I fear commitment, but I may return to this story in the future since these two didn't get a resolution. Will Hux be executed? How does Rose feel about him, really? These questions and more may [never] be answered in our next installment. 
> 
> Escape pod design in Star Wars is inconsistent and I couldn't find a decent reference for the Falcon's escape pods, so I decided they look like this: https://starwars.tumblr.com/post/114787180253/looks-cozy-for-an-emergency-escape-pod
> 
> Hux's username comes from Rae Sloane, who was kind to Hux. I imagine he would be smart enough not to use his real name or anything that could be directly tied back to him.


End file.
